All the rumors, they seem true
But he retains the same way of thinking
But if ignorance is bliss, why does he feel the opposite?
He can only sleep well through the night if it’s cold
How fitting, since living his life in the same sort of fashion is what he tends to do
Watch him fake his smile too

You know he, would be fine, without you in his life
From time to time, he breaks free, but along then falls the night
Silently hoping’s a rough form of coping, as isolation grows
His head spins, his eyes open, but only just for show
Only just for show

Far across the plain there stands a statue
It’s wide awake, but crumbles when the sun
Rises and the day it holds no virtue
When rubble turns to grain it is not gone